


You Don't Understand

by Vanyel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: And Genji tries to be the voice of reason, Bodyswap, Jack and Gabe are literal children, NaNoWriMo, Other, Zenyatta is the reckless for once, cover your eyes the next tag is a spoiler, who fight for way too damn long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:43:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8499244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanyel/pseuds/Vanyel
Summary: When an argument won't end, sometimes you have to look at it from a different angle.





	1. How Utterly Human

One of the first things Overwatch’s new recruits that had joined since the Recall quickly learned was that you didn’t need an alarm clock. Even the heaviest sleepers would find themselves awakened a good ten minutes before they needed to get up for breakfast every single day to the sound of banging on the walls and muffled yelling. Dragging oneself and peeking a head out of the door would produce the sight of Soldier 76 and Reaper throwing things at one another and arguing at the top of their lungs. No one ever knew what they were fighting about this time. No one ever knew whether they’d solved what they were fighting about the day before. No one ever knew how they managed to have the exact same volume of argument at just about the same time every single day for over a month at a time without getting tired of themselves or of fighting. No one ever knew, and they didn’t dare to ask.

It simply became one of the staples of base: wake up to the sound of a fist slamming into the wall, blink groggily at the sight of Reaper throwing 76 across the hallway, wander past on your way to the mess hall with a yawn as 76 threw a set of papers back at Reaper and growled something. Eventually, halfway through breakfast, Soldier 76 would finally stomp into the mess hall, grab one of the packs of freeze-dried rations that everyone else only ate out in the field in emergency situations, and stomp back out with low angry mumbling following from under the visor. Occasionally, someone would say hello to him, and he would grunt at them, waving a hand before disappearing back out to the war room to make the battle plans for the upcoming skirmishes. No one bothered to look for Reaper in the mornings after the scheduled arguments - he’d proven impossible to find, even with Athena’s assistance. There might be a faint trail of smoke leading from the hallway, but that would come to a dead end halfway past the corner, with no indication of which direction he’d gone from there. He simply disappeared from the grid.

There wasn’t much more information than that to be had. Everyone from the old guard of Overwatch would just shrug when asked about it. Mercy said they had started this in the last few years before the explosion in Switzerland, and that was how she’d known who they both were when they answered the Recall. Reinhardt expressed a wish for them to get over themselves - the past was in the past, and the two of them would have to learn to work together again somehow, for the good of the new Overwatch, and the world. McCree looked away, throwing out a line of how they had once gotten along, but things could never go back to that point; too much had happened that couldn’t be undone. None of them would elaborate on what exactly had happened to make the two of them fall out like this. Those who asked questions eventually gave up. The legendary teamwork of Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison that had protected the world for a decade was gone forever. Reaper and Soldier: 76 would continue to fight forever. That was the way things were, apparently.

At least the way they were for a very long time.

~

One morning, Genji was sitting in the corner of the mess hall, watching the goings-on of the breakfast tables. He didn’t have to eat, but breakfast was a bit of a ritual for everyone at this point. Folding his legs, his visor lit up as Zenyatta floated casually between the tables. “Good morning, master! How are you doing?”

Zenyatta inclined his head in the motion of a small smile, and hovered next to him, turning out to face the hall. “I am well, Genji. It seems the others are calmer than normal; perhaps a good night’s rest has-” A thump against the wall, and he paused in his speaking. Two more lighter thumps followed, a shout, and it ceased. Zenyatta continued as if he had never paused. “-gotten them a step closer to finding their path to the Iris. With the continued noted exceptions, of course.”

The sound of military-grade boots rang out as Soldier: 76 marched into the room with a huff. He passed by the table, and ignored Zenyatta raising a hand in greeting. “God dammit, if I could just....if he would just-!” He didn’t finish, just cutting himself off with a strangled, impotent snarl of frustration. A pause, and then the monk spoke, his voice carrying the distance without raising the volume and making the man stop in his tracks.

“It sounds as if you are having some troubles with our mutual colleague, Soldier,” Zenyatta said, his tone as smooth and even as ever, “as you seem to on a fairly constant basis. You have continued the same method of discussing your issues with no one but the object of your frustration, which produces as expected similar results. Have you considered a shift in approach?”

76 turned to face them, face clearly showing exasperated acceptance even behind his visor. “Like what? You can’t exactly get the man to sit down for a strategy meeting, let alone expect him to actually listen to anything with any hint of sense or reason in it. If it’s not his way, Reaper won’t just not do it, he’ll go out of his way to mess it up for you.” 

The whole room had grown quiet, listening to the conversation. This was more than 76 had ever said following an argument. A pause, and Zenyatta tilted his head to the side. “Have you attempted to explain things as one might see them from another point of view? To see things as another sees them, one must step into their shoes. What do you know about where his stance is made?”

That just got a snort from the old man. “I know that he doesn’t care about anyone or anything but himself. I know that he’s only here buying time for whatever world-ending scheme he’s making next, and I know that no one will  _ ever _ trust him again, nor  _ should _ they.” Grabbing his rations, 76 moved to exit the room, stopping right before the door. “Reaper will never understand what I go through trying to keep this team together. He’s never understood anything about me, and he never will. Stop trying to make me talk to him, Zenyatta-he doesn’t listen to reason, and I don’t listen to scrap heaps.” And then, he was gone, marching back off to the war room, footsteps fading into the distance. Zenyatta waved at his retreating back.

Genji glanced from the empty doorway to Zenyatta, pausing before letting out a metallic sigh. “Master,” he said softly, “I know you must be well aware that the two of them will never get along. This is not like what happened with my brother and I - there are many bridges that were built between those two men, and they have all been burnt and sown with salt.” His lights blinked softly as he shook his head. “Your intent is well, but you cannot mean to attempt to reconcile them. There is nothing left for them to connect.”

Zenyatta tilted his head. “Perhaps.” He floated up from the table, orbs spinning idly. “But that would make them the first of their kind in a very long list of people I have come across. There is always a reason to hope, my student.” Before Genji could respond, Zenyatta turned and glided serenely out of the room, his orbs humming softly in the cool morning air.

~

The next morning, after the new scratches in the wall from the argument were counted, photographed, and buffed out, Zenyatta did not head into the mess hall with the others. Instead, he floated down the empty hallways on a seemingly random path through the base. This was not a new occurrence- the Omnic monk had taken to wandering the halls sometimes instead of attending meals with the rest of the team, as he did not require food, and sometimes needed the space to clear his mind.  _ Perhaps the garden today, _ he thought to himself, turning the corner and floating out the doorway into the light of the rising sun. 

Moving through the garden, Zenyatta heard a noise like a cat at a scratching post. He turned, lights blinking-

And saw Reaper, standing in the shadow of a large oak tree on the edge of the calm pond. Reaper’s hand was pressing against something white hanging on the bark of the tree, and as Zenyatta watched, he dragged his claws across it with a low growl. “¿Cuándo voy a deshacerme de ti, hijo de puta?,” he hissed softly.

The Orb of Harmony attached itself to Reaper’s shoulder. “...I do not believe the tree has the capacity to cause you enough trouble to warrant such an insult of its ancestry,” Zenyatta said softly, ignoring the whirling wraith pointing a gun at his head in surprise. “Nor such treatment of its bark. Is there not a more constructive outlet with which you can express and work through your anger?”

Reaper paused, finally realizing who it was that had managed to sneak up on him. “...Shouldn’t you be in there, playing house with all the other goody-two-shoes?” Even with the mask, his eyes narrowed as he slowly pulled his shotgun back. “Or sitting somewhere to think about the universe in ones and zeroes? _Alone?_ ”  
Zenyatta gave a casual shrug, pulling back his Orb of Harmony and guiding it back to the circling procession around his neck. “There is only so much one can hear of the same thing every single day, and it did not seem to be any conversation to be had that would be particularly enlightening indoors. So I decided to go for a walk.” A pause, and he added, “or at least something similar to one.” He gave a small tilt of his head, looking at Reaper with seeming disregard for the other man’s anger. “Of course, this morning itself had begun following its normal pattern-perhaps one that could be broken?”

“Not in a million years, autómata.” Reaper snorted, turning back to gesture at the tree and the shredded piece of paper still weakly pinned to it. “As long as Soldier thinks he can get away with telling me what to do, this fucking pattern is staying.” He snorted again, his free hand curling into a fist and disregarding the claws digging into it. “That, or I find a way to put him down for good.” A shake of his head, turning back to face Zenyatta, and his voice dropped dangerously low. “Did he fucking send you after me?” 

Zenyatta shook his head no, but Reaper went on almost as if he hadn’t noticed or cared about the answer. “I swear, that bastard needs to get his nose and all his little goons out of my fucking business, and stop assuming he knows anything about what I’m doing here. He doesn’t know a fucking thing, and even if he did know, he wouldn’t understand. Soldier has no fucking idea what I’ve gone through. And neither do you. I better not fucking see you around me in the mornings, puto, or else.”

With that, Reaper spun on his heel, stalking off a few steps before seamlessly flowing into a roiling mass of shadow, sliding across the ground before slipping into a doorway and disappearing completely.

Floating in place, Zenyatta considered what had just happened. Within the span of two days, both Soldier and 76 had cited a claim to never want to see the other person so close to them again, despite the constant arguments. The other would not understand, they said, so let us not try. They’d also threatened him for his potential involvement, simply for asking a few clarifying questions.

How utterly human.


	2. In the Right Direction

Zenyatta was not deterred by the stubborn resistance that met him in attempting to even learn the source of the strife between Soldier 76 and Reaper. He had spent a surprising amount of his twenty years of conscious thought dealing with people shouting violent threats and throwing things at him, mostly for his species and controversial beliefs on the nature of a soul. He would not be so easily set off his path to reconcile Soldier 76 and Reaper by a few mere setbacks. Or constant bad responses. Or each of them in turn pointing a gun at his face and telling him in no uncertain terms to never talk to them again if he cared about continuing in his miserable robotic existence. Actually, that last one had him chuckling to himself in private- for two men so determined to consider themselves nothing alike, they certainly had nearly identical reactions to someone offering help.

He continued to approach both Soldier 76 and Reaper on sight both on and off the battlefield, raising a hand in greeting and attaching his Orb of Harmony to their shoulder as he approached. That was his signature of approach after the time a few years back where Reinhardt somehow hadn’t heard him floating up behind him and nearly jumped out his skin when Zenyatta spoke into his ear. The wide hammer swing at the assumed enemy had missed the confused monk, flying through a window instead. So, to avoid further on-base property damage, Zenyatta announced his presence with the soft hum of Harmony. Unfortunately, this made getting Soldier 76 or Reaper to stay close enough to converse with rather difficult. Soldier 76 would simply grunt in annoyance, turning on his heel and sprinting off away from Zenyatta’s path, even if it placed him further from the current objective. Reaper would seem to curl inwards in disgust at the touch of the Orb’s warmth, firing a warning shot towards Zenyatta (who was always prepared to take the shrapnel if it might perhaps mean getting a chance to speak properly) and disappear into the shadows. Occasionally, he’d take a few angry swipes at the Orb hovering by him with a grunt of petulant anger.

It was an interesting addition to the daily routine, though the rest of the team was getting a bit exasperated with constantly losing one or the other member of the old strike team for minutes at a time just because they didn’t want to talk to the Omnic. Strangest of all was the fact that the morning arguments had ceased suddenly one day (an occurrence that had made nearly everyone late to the battle that day since they were not prepared to be left to sleep), as if Soldier 76 and Reaper had silently agreed to a truce until the annoyance was dealt with once and for all. They still avoided each other on the battlefield. There was a betting pool made (very quietly, to avoid drawing the ire of either subject) about which one would either explode first, or give in and at least give Zenyatta the time of day. It was a fairly split pool.

Zenyatta knew. All things would come in time, and a warrior’s greatest weapon was patience. He had gotten through to Genji. He could get through to these men. He just had to keep trying until something changed.

~

It was four weeks before something changed. The skirmish had been fairly relaxed, most of the team settling in the heat. Zenyatta was floating gently around the corner of the building towards where he’d last seen Genji, spinning and summoning his orbs.

“Autómata.” Zenyatta’s sensors picked up on the growled voice an instant before he bumped into Reaper, forming out of the shadows in his path. Even through the mask, his expression of barely-contained anger was clear, and his form flickered unsteadily.

“Greetings, Reaper,” Zenyatta said calmly, raising one hand. “It has been a fine day and a fine fight, has it not? I believe you and Soldier 76 were-”

Reaper moved to grip Zenyatta by the shoulders, gloves curled over the thin metal as he forced the monk to look up at him. “Shut up.” His voice was thick and more growled than normal. “I don’t want to hear what you believe. I don’t want to hear anything more from you.” His claws pushed harder, the sharp points tearing through Zenyatta’s shoulder plates like they were made of tissue paper. “Whatever the fuck you think you’re doing by following me around with Soldier’s name, it’s not going to happen.” The claws dug in deep, scratching his internal circuitry, and Reaper leaned in until his mask was just a few inches from Zenyatta’s face. “Leave. Me. Alone. Or the next time I hear those words coming from you, they will be followed by the sounds of rending metal, and I will turn you back into the parts you came from. Comprende?” A faint wisp of smoke wafted from the mask, curling around Zenyatta’s head before dissipating.

Zenyatta tilted his head to the side, seemingly unconcerned with the violent threat. He stayed silent until Reaper let go and shoved him away in a huff. “Last chance,” Reaper growled, “or else.” He dragged one claw across his throat as his legs shifted, dissolving into smoke and disappearing just as Genji came running up from behind.

“Master! I saw him coming for you-are you alright?” Genji’s hand was on his hilt, pace clearly hurried. “If he dared to harm-”

A small chuckle was Zenyatta’s response. “He did what he believes to be his only course of action, my student. That he is wrong in that does not make him at fault.” A wave of his hand, and the Orb of Harmony attached itself to the cyborg’s shoulder. “Come, the battle is not yet over, and it is a far worse thing to leave a job undone than to never begin it.” Genji’s lights blinked blankly as he watched his master float away, seemingly unconcerned with what had just happened.

~

After the debrief from the battle, Genji followed the winding path through the garden to his master’s perch. Zenyatta was sitting on the small stone bench overlooking the still pond. The  monk had his face tilted up towards the sky, his orbs tracing a slow circle around him. His lights were dimmed, the equivalent of closed eyes, and they did not shift as Genji sat next to him.

“....I am worried about you, Master.” Genji’s eyes flickered over the puncture wounds left by Reaper’s claws, as of yet unmended. “I know it is not my place to speak on the matter, and I understand that you wish for the others on base to find a path to peace with one another, but some wounds...are not meant to be healed. The rift between those two men is deep and widened by time. I do not want to see you get hurt trying to help them.”

Zenyatta hummed softly, his lights coming online as his head tilted back upright. “I understand where you are coming from, and I appreciate your concern, my student.” He paused a moment, then let out a gently crackling rush of air-a sigh. “And I will admit, these are two of the most difficult souls I have encountered in many years.”

Genji nodded. “They have each and together been through many things, though no one knows what they are. They are very different men than the men each other knew. And it seems that they do not believe the other person has a right to speak on what happened because they did not have to live with it in the same way.”

One of Zenyatta’s orbs stopped spinning, rotating the other way. His lights flashed a moment, bright, thoughtful. “....They cannot imagine the other seeing it through their eyes?” At Genji’s nod, a crackle of electricity formed at the corner of the slit that formed his mouth. A smile. “How interesting.”

Genji found something about that smile unusually unsettling. His master did not normally smile in fact, only in aura and feeling. “...Please, master-”

Zenyatta raised a hand casually, the orbs all beginning to spin the other way. “Do not worry, my student,” he said. “I will not rush them. All things will run their course, whether we wish to go to them or not.” Moving his hand, he touched the lone orb that had stayed still, watching as it spun with the movement of his fingers. “All that is needed is the occasional...push in the right direction. And it shall happen, in its time.”

~

Soldier 76 and Reaper were relieved to find that Zenyatta’s pursuance of them had finally ceased. They went right back to the normal routine- avoiding each other on the field every battle, and waking the entire based with their arguments every morning. Hastily ordered alarm clocks were quickly set aside, no longer needed. A few people shot questioning looks at Zenyatta when passing him in the hallway, but he remained as peaceful and cheerful as ever, so they assumed he had his own reasons for stopping the pursuit.

Genji had actually breached the question one morning, sitting between him and Tracer at the breakfast table as Soldier 76 stormed past with his astronaut food. “Master, I...will admit I have never seen you give up on someone in need of enlightenment before, let alone a pair such as them. Has something further occurred?”

A pause, and Zenyatta did an odd thing. He laughed, hiding the gentle electronic giggles behind his hand. “Oh, my student. Your statement implies that I have in fact given up on our Soldier and our Reaper. You still have much to learn, my student, and you will see in time that I am doing exactly what needs to be done to bring them together. I am simply allowing them their space while the universe aligns for the right time to continue with the pursuit of harmony.” The hand came down, Zenyatta’s smile warm in his voice. “And ensuring the rest of the base is not late for their morning food. Just because I do not eat does not mean I wish for the discontinuance of the strange ritual of breakfast.”

Tracer hummed her agreement around her Cheerios, and the subject was dropped once more.

~

Zenyatta was often the last one to turn in for the night-not only was his room far from the action of the argument, but he did not sleep the same way the others did. His meditation still left him cognizant of his surroundings, so he didn’t feel the need to rush in anywhere. He floated serenely down the hall, hearing the yelling and thumps. Seems the fighting had moved to the T-intersection up ahead. Turning a corner, he saw Soldier 76 and Reaper facing each other down the long side of the hall. They were unusually quiet, hands poised at the edge of their weapons. Like an old duel in one of those cheesy old-time movies McCree insisted on showing everyone all the time. Zenyatta paused in his path, ducking into the relative safety of an open closet. The guns came up, rockets and shotguns were readied, and fingers pulled on triggers.

And a faint, happy boop caught the edge of his sensors, Zenyatta’s gaze swiveling to see Bastion stepping in from the blind hallway. It was looking behind itself at Ganymede swooping and diving overhead. The monk didn’t have time to say anything before it crossed the threshold, light shining softly on the wall-

Rockets slammed into it from one side. Bullets flew into it from the other. A loud sound of twisting and charring metal sounded through the base, accompanied by a high beep of pain and confusion that pierced the walls. Bastion stumbled a few steps forward, turning its head to try and see either assailant, light flashing in distress. It crashed into the wall with a dull thud, sliding down to the floor in a crumpled heap and letting out another pained boop.

Soldier 76 and Reaper instantly rushed forward, followed by Zenyatta as they gathered around the injured robot. A few moments later, the sound of running footsteps from all directions heralded the rest of the team in their pajamas, coming to the source of the unusually loud noise. Mercy and Lucio instantly focused themselves on Bastion, checking over the injured robot and fixing their healing on it. Everyone else surrounded the edges of the hallway, preventing the guilty parties from running off.

Finally, Lucio sat back, sighing softly. “Man, that...that was close too close for comfort. Nearly clipped the Respawn chip off-hours, and Dios knows the problems with that. It’ll recover, but that was touch-and-go for a moment.” He glanced up, frowning softly. “What happened, man? What’d it do to you guys?”

They spoke at the same time.

“The Omnic just got in the way-if Reaper had been paying attention to his surroundings-”

“I nearly had the Soldier in my sights when the tin can-”

In an instant, the air around them all grew uncomfortably warm, and the hallway lights flickered with mild uncertainty. The protests died away, and within a heartbeat it was quiet enough to hear the soft hum of Bastion’s systems working to come back online. Even those with normally low sensitivity could feel the thickness of the tension laid down over the hall.There was a pulsing aura of awakening rage and fed-up frustration that had been quietly and perfectly pushed to the side for two long decades, until someone finally crossed a line that no one had known existed. All eyes turned to Zenyatta, and the team shook with a fear that they had not thought to feel before now.

Zenyatta’s constant, calming blue lights were gone. They were replaced by nine pulsing crimson dots. Reaper and Soldier 76 were bathed in their scattered light, unable to escape, transfixed like deer on a remote country road. He floated steadily closer to them, physically as serene and peaceful as ever. Unfolding his hands from his lap, Zenyatta held them up and out, and four orbs detached from his necklace and began to orbit clockwise around his hands in pairs. A flick of his fingers, and one orb in each pair reversed its rotation to counterclockwise.Slowly, the orbs began to glow-the clockwise ones pulsing with a warm yellow lights, and the counterclockwise ones emanating a cold purple light.

**“So.”** Everyone’s hearts jumped when Zenyatta spoke. The sound was his normal calm, even tone they knew all too well. His voice had not changed one bit, yet every person in that hallway would swear there was a dark depth to it now, a simmering overtone that promised something worse than their meager imaginations could manage. 

**“So. The two of you have fought. And I had said only as much as I believed was appropriate to say.”** The orbs pulled their orbit in closer to his hands, speeding up. **“You have fought since I have known you. You have allowed it to affect the cohesion of the team on the field, and I have not yet intervened. For this was not my battle to fight-it was time. And yet now, you have made it my battle.”** His voice grew no louder, but it rang in their ears as if he was yelling at the top of whatever he had for lungs.  **“You have not only involved an innocent who wished neither of you harm, not only harmed an uninvolved party near to the point of no return. You have done all this, and when asked of your reason, you have** **_insulted_ ** **the being that you have hurt.”**

The glow of Zenyatta’s eyes increased, six deep orange arms unfolding from his back as he bathed the hallway in light. His orbs spun and rose, higher and higher out of his hands, each pair nearly touching. Zenyatta locked eyes with both of the arguers, voice crackling with electricity.  **“You have said that the fight will not end because the other does not understand you. I shall resolve that.”**

A flick of his fingers, and the orbs flew into Soldier 76 and Reaper, the light flowing out from them as they struck and swirling over their targets’ bodies before slowly sinking in under the skin. Each man practically glowed, yellow and purple light warring over each body, cold and warm colliding and making their nerves stand on end. The flashing lights were too bright, and everyone else had to cover their eyes and look away. They stumbled back, grunting, feeling the world shake and their heads spin. A few moments, and they turned, staggering almost identically away through the crowd, which quickly parted to let them through as the rest of the team watched through parted fingers at them walking off to their rooms. Two doors opened, and two doors closed, and two bodies fell to the floor with audible thumps.

The hum of Zenyatta’s power resounded through the room as the orbs retreated, neatly sliding back into their place in the necklace, and his Transcendance faded back into normal evening light. He folded all of his arms back inwards, the lights dulling, and finally his eyes shifted from red back to the familiar blue. The rest of the team stood in shock, and Zenyatta looked around at them with a tilt of his head.

“It has been a long day.” They jumped at the sound of his voice, but he simply placed his hands in his lap with grace. “I will remain with Bastion and ensure its systems are restored to their original states. Should you not all be heading to your various forms of rest?”

He was impressed with the pure speed at which the hall emptied, leaving him alone. Zenyatta floated lower to the floor, reaching over to place a hand on Bastion’s turret, and offer him an electric smile. “Do not worry, my friend. You will be well, and the path of fate has found its course for those two. Just maybe watch where you are walking next time.” Bastion booped back quietly, slowly testing its reformed legs and standing again. It waved at Zenyatta, who waved back as he rose to his normal height once more, and gave a small thankful whir before walking heavily back down the hall, holding out its hand for Ganymede to perch on gently.  The monk stayed hovering in the middle of the hallway for a moment more before turning back towards his own quarters.

How these humans impatiently rushed to meet their destinies in their attempts to avoid them. Zenyatta was curious to see how they would react to their new...positions. There was only so much the Iris could show him - the rest was, as young Hana put it, “the real fun”.


	3. The Mile He Must Walk

The first unusual thing Reaper noticed about waking up the next morning was the fact that he woke up at all. He was used to not sleeping at all, kept awake by either work, that idiot in the red visor, or the constant low-level pain and sub-audible buzz of the nanomachines tearing his failing body apart and putting it back together a million times a second.

After a second of impossible quiet, Reaper realized that pain, familiar from years spent under its influence, was gone. Completely. For the first time in two decades, there was a moment where Reaper’s mind was completely clear and free of pain. His body felt as heavy as lead and nearly as unwieldy, unusually solid and all staying in one place. Things weren’t moving. When Reaper tried to move his hand, it only took the corner of his brain that it should, fingers twitching in an unusually simple response. He sucked in a breath, confused to feel his lungs expand properly. Was his body actually responding properly? A faint buzzing, almost a hum, undercut the silence with no sign of fading. Reaper grunted, shifting an arm to press against the ground and sit upright.

The pain hit all at once, sending him back to lying flat on the floor with a choked-off wheeze. It was like a sudden ache that shot through his body all at once, like a dull knife was being quickly drawn across his bones. “Ay dios mio,” Reaper hissed in surprise, and this time he could clearly hear a difference in his voice. It was far from his normal dry rasp forced through a destroyed throat. It felt more like...a normal voice, sounding through a metallic filter. That was not supposed to happen. And why was so much light hitting his eyes? He squinted hard, trying to block it all out unsuccessfully. Wasn’t his mask supposed to be filtering out the excess light? It didn’t hurt, particularly, it was just...unusual.

After a few moments, Reaper tried again to sit up slowly. Every nerve in his unusually stable body felt like it was being pressed against a slowly heating iron. A memory from last night slowly came into his mind-Zenyatta glowing in the middle of the hallway, his Orbs of Discord and Harmony slamming into his chest, the strange feeling of the conflicting lights sinking inside him, the stumbling walk past the team back to his own room. What had that damn bucket of bolts done to him? Just because his atoms weren’t constantly rearranging themselves didn’t mean that this was an upgrade. He hurt like a seventy-year-old man with arthritis! He made it to his feet finally, head spinning, and Reaper took a few moments trying to help his eyes adjust to the sunlight streaming in through an open window. What the hell? Reaper was sure he’d locked the window yesterday. Stumbling towards it, he raised a hand, blindly trying to hook the catch with one claw-

“What the fucking fuck?!?” The voice that was his but not his stood out, but his attention was drawn what was wrong to his hands. He had no claws. His fingers were flat, and the leather was thicker than it was supposed to be. Reaper whirled, placing his back to the window, and opened his eyes fully, staring at his hand. Red. Thick red leather gloves with no claws on the end of them. Reaper flexed slowly, watching them move in time with his movements. It was his hand in the glove. The insufferably, impossibly familiar glove that should not have been on his hand, should have been on any hand but his own. 

He looked up frantically, seeing the room-and quickly realizing it was not his own. The window was on the wrong side of the room, and it was open wide, letting in a streaming amount of sun that should have been blinding him. Reaper had a brief moment of begrudging gratitude to whatever was wrong with his eyes and his mask-whatever it was had protected his eyes from that much sunlight. There was an impeccably organized shelf of boxes filled with what looked like spare ordinance and food supplies, a bed that didn’t look like it had ever been slept in, and very little else. He didn’t like being in here. Too neat, too military, too...goody-two-shoes. Not enough guns. And too damn bright. But there was a mirror, and that was good enough for Reaper. He stumbled over the large, heavy boots that felt far more solid and stable than he was ready for and moved to stand in front of it. 

“No, no, no, this isn't possible!” Reaper growled to himself, terror and dread slowly filling him as stared into the mirror. Soldier 76 stared back at him, in his full hyper-American good boy glory. Red-line visor sitting above a dull metal mask. Short hair bleached white by time and shock. Square shoulders framed by a blue and red and white leather jacket over a tight black shirt. Thick red and black gloves. Baggy regulation black pants. Spare biotic fields hanging off the left hip. Standard issue metal boots, a half size too large. 

Reaper stared into the mirror, and Soldier 76 stared back, and the man who had become one and the same screamed.

~

The first unusual thing Soldier 76 noticed when he woke up was that nothing was staying still. His whole body felt like it was moving back and forth and up and down and staying in the same place, shifting against the hardwood floor. It was a distinctly unsettling and vaguely painful feeling that turned his stomach, and gave a new meaning to the phrase “his skin crawled”. On second thought, though, even that didn’t seem adequate to describe his roiling and rolling form. It seemed to go down all the way to his soul, constantly shifting. Trying to flex his left hand, 76 felt parts all over his body twitch in response and try to move, and he shuddered internally. It was like the communication between his brain and his body was flickering in and out, and briefly reconnecting in the wrong spots. What the HELL was going on? And why was everything so dark-did his visor’s power cell go out again? He couldn’t seem to hear its familiar hum, and the stark silence unsettled him. The man swore in the silence he could hear his own body unforming and reforming a thousand times a second.

It took several minutes all of Soldier 76’s concentration to test what he had to TRY to move to ACTUALLY move anything in particular, but he finally managed to coordinate enough of his body long enough to sit upright with a low, raspy groan. In a moment of surprised clarity, he realized that moving hurt no more than staying still. The aching joints that had plagued him for years were but a vague memory. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the world, feeling unusually warm, and working fairly well despite the darkness.  A memory from last night slowly came into his mind-Zenyatta glowing in the middle of the hallway, his Orbs of Discord and Harmony slamming into his chest, the strange feeling of the conflicting lights sinking inside him, the stumbling walk past the team back to his own room. It seemed there was some sort of...cold black mesh between his eyes and his visor that was cutting out the red tint and extra light, but was still thin enough to see through as if it were day. Grunting, 76 reached up to try and pull off whatever was holding it in place, hand crossing his field of view-

Black. Thin black gloves, of a cold material Soldier 76 couldn’t recognize, stretched over his slowly twitching hand as he froze. Each finger was tipped by a sharp curved metal claw that gleamed even in the dimly-lit room. Dazedly, 76 flexed his fingers as well as he could, shivering as he felt the tip of the claws click against his half-armored palm in turn. The gloves melded into two metal forearm bracers that extended all the way up to his elbow, flaring out in shades of black and grey. When did he put these on? Soldier 76 moved to stand, and felt the world turn to nothingness underneath him, weakly crying out as he fell and the world went black-

And suddenly he was standing, as steady as if he hadn’t fallen at all. The rush of suddenly being upright made 76 stagger heavily, coughing. “What in the goddamn world?” His voice was...dark, but not as raspy as it used to be. Though it felt like it was being filtered through something heavy resting on his throat, like a metal collar that extended all the way up to his jaw. He turned weakly, looking at the room around him.

It wasn’t his room. The window was on the wrong side of the room, and it was locked tight with a heavy bolt and padlock. There was no bed-just a large wooden desk covered in scattered papers that, on a second glance, formed themselves into battle plans. The bookcase was completely unorganized, covered in bullets and dust from disuse in parts of it. A half-cracked mirror in the back corner caught Soldier 76’s eye, and he moved to walk towards it, shivering as his normal heavy movements turned almost preternaturally light. It didn’t feel like walking, it felt like...gliding, like his feet never touched the ground but dissolved before he could put any weight onto them. Shaking it off, he moved in front of the mirror.

“This...this is impossible,” he breathed, seeing the wisp of black smoke curl up past his eyes and feeling the pit of what he thought was his stomach fall away as he stared into it.

Reaper stared back at him, in his full wraithed-out Talon operative glory. Bone-white mask with two red points glinting behind it. A jet-black hood covering his head and casting his mask in shadow. Broad shoulders with a long black cape and a custom-fit armored coat. Thin black gloves and metal arm guards. Tight and armored black pants. Spare shotgun shells hanging off the left hip. Heavy metal boots, perfectly sized to large feet. 

Soldier 76 stared into the mirror, and Reaper stared back, and the man who had become one and the same screamed.

~

It was an unexpectedly quiet morning, though with no battle scheduled for that day, the members of Overwatch were certainly appreciative of the opportunity for a little more sleep. The events of the previous night had kept them up, even with Zenyatta’s calm reassurances that everything would be all right. Honestly, after what had happened with the robot monk, that almost made it more unsettling. 

The monk in question was floating gently down the hall, passing the intersection of the previously altercation, when two loud yet muffled sounds reached his auditory sensors through the walls. He paused in his place to listen to the screams-how interesting. They sounded almost identical. Two sets of screams, two sets of crashes against the wall, two unfamiliar hands scrambling at the doorknobs, two doors finally opening. Zenyatta floated to the back of the hallway to watch as Reaper and Soldier 76 emerged from their rooms. They stumbled out slowly and shakily, as if waking up from a far longer rest. Their heads perked up, hearing something, and slowly swiveled to face down the hall at Zenyatta and each other. It was almost comical how in unison they were, turning to yell at him and stomp.

“ZENYATTA!” “YOU!”  
“Greetings and good morning, gentlemen,” Zenyatta said, completely unperturbed by the shouting and clumsy walks towards him. He raised both hands in greeting to either side of him. “And how are you feeling this morning?”

The man in Reaper’s body grunted at him, a sound that didn’t quite seem to fit him. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Zenyatta, but this isn’t right! There’s got to be something against this-the rules of robotics or something! Give me back my body!”

The man in Soldier 76’s body snorted, muffled through the visor. “Of course. It’s always rules with you, even when you’re getting the better end of the deal, soldado. You can actually walk without a stick up your ass. Dios, it feels like I’m made of concrete!”

“What are you talking about? At least now you’re not a shapeless, medically impossible collection of guns and assholishness-”

Two of Zenyatta’s orbs floated up into his hands, and both men immediately stopped talking and flinched backwards, remembering the last time the orbs had been turned on them. The Omnic monk looked from Soldier to Reaper and back again, tilting his head. “It seems the two of you are further from the lesson you must learn than I believed you to be,” he said, tone as neutral as ever despite the ominous words. “Constantly you have expressed to me that you do not understand one another-I am simply giving you the greatest opportunity to rectify this situation that lies within my power.” His hands folded back into his lap, the two orbs returning to their normal orbit around his neck. “You do not truly know a man until you can truly say that you have walked a mile in his shoes. And I will be returning you to your own bodies when you have learned what mile the other must walk, and not a moment before.” Before either man could respond, Zenyatta bowed his head in farewell and floated off down the hall, humming softly to himself.

There was a long pause, Reaper and Soldier looking long and hard at each other.

“...I swear, if anything happens to my body, you’re dead,” Reaper’s body snapped, turning on his heel and attempting to storm off. With no physical contact with the ground, this nearly led to him falling flat on his face, but he caught himself with a strangled grunt and disappeared around the corner.

Soldier’s body watched him for another moment, then shook his head, snorting again. “I’d like to see you try, puta.” He turned away, slowly picking his way down the hall, hissing with the hard contact with the floor. “I’d like to see you try.”


End file.
